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<title>In the Alcove at Shepheard's by tinydooms</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29169378">In the Alcove at Shepheard's</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinydooms/pseuds/tinydooms'>tinydooms</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Mummy (1999), The Mummy Series</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Friendship, Marriage, dealing with bigots, hiding from uncomfortable situations, impromptu make-out sessions, lipstick mishaps</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 11:41:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>930</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29169378</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinydooms/pseuds/tinydooms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Evie was sitting in an alcove in Shepheard’s Hotel, the curtain drawn to avoid prying eyes. Rick, peering through the crack between them, was amused to see that even though she had clearly thrown herself down on the bench, Evie looked lovely. Her color was high and the skirts of her lovely purple and gold evening gown spilled gracefully around her legs. God, she was beautiful. She looked like a Vogue cover. But she was frowning; something had upset her. </p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Evy Carnahan O'Connell/Rick O'Connell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>40</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>In the Alcove at Shepheard's</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>In the Alcove at Shepheard's</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Cairo, Spring 1923</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Evie? What’re you doing, honey?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Evie looked up at Rick, her eyes mournful. She was sitting in an alcove in Shepheard’s Hotel, the curtain drawn to avoid prying eyes. Rick, peering through the crack between them, was amused to see that even though she had clearly thrown herself down on the bench, Evie looked lovely. Her color was high and the skirts of her lovely purple and gold evening gown spilled gracefully around her legs. God, she was beautiful. She looked like a Vogue cover. But she was frowning; something had upset her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just,” Evie said, “I really hate Henrietta de Luce.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rick flung his thoughts back over the multitude of people he’d met that evening. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was she the snooty one with the feathers on her head?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Evie scoffed a laugh. “Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rick slipped into the alcove and settled down beside his wife. “What did she say? Should I push her into the fountain?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It won’t help; she’s always been like this.” Evie fiddled with her evening bag, its sequins catching the alcove’s dim light and throwing sparks around. “A rude, selfish bigot, as long as I can remember, and her family is the same. Awful, the lot of them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rick nodded, waiting. Evie tossed her bag down and folded her gloved hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She asked how I, with my family “being the way it is”, managed to convince a man to marry me. She insinuated that you must not know about my mother, or else you’d never have agreed to it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anger roared up in Rick, hot and sick and all-consuming. He swallowed it back, forcing it down, clenching his hands as he fumbled for words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can ask the staff to make her leave,” he finally managed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Evie said bitterly. “It wouldn’t do any good. She only said what everyone thinks.” She brushed her hands over her face. “It’s not new, you know. My parents lost both of their families and most of their friends when they married. Jonathan and I have always been viewed with suspicion, seen as less-than. Most of the time I don’t let it bother me, but tonight…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tonight, at the party thrown by the British Embassy to celebrate the two biggest archaeological finds of the season: the Carnahan artefacts from Hamunaptra and Howard Carter’s find of King Tut’s tomb. Rick took a deep breath, tamped down his rage, and pulled Evie into his arms. This was supposed to be a happy night, celebrating Evie’s discoveries. And here she was, hiding in an alcove, close to tears. Rick cuddled her close, breathing in her rose and amber perfume, the soft scent of her hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” he said. “You’re perfect, you hear me? Screw those bigots. They have no idea what they’re talking about, and what they’re missing out on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I should have warned you,” Evie whispered, eyes downcast. “I know that I--I pass most of the time, but there will always be people who don’t care, and don’t mind saying it to my face.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rick dropped a kiss onto her head. “Fuck those people. They matter less than dirt. I married you because I love you and I wouldn’t have you any other way than exactly how you are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Evie looked up at him, her eyes a little damp. “Have I kissed you today?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rick smiled and bent his face to hers. Evie tasted like expensive champagne, her lips soft and warm on his. The kiss was gentle and entirely too chaste; Rick put his hand to the back of her head and deepened it, inviting her in and letting her steal his breath away. Evie’s gloved hands brushed his face; her mouth was hungry against his, demanding. Rick wound his arms around her and held her close. They broke apart, panting, and came together again, the only sound in the little alcove that of their heavy breath and their searching lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Better?” Rick whispered as Evie released him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” she said, and began to laugh. “Oh, Rick, your face!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, what about it--oh, no, you should see yours!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Evie’s dark red lipstick, so carefully applied, was smeared around her mouth. Rick touched his own lips; his fingers came away stained red. He began to laugh, reaching into his pocket for his hankie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, well,” he said, wiping his lips. “It was worth it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Evie reached into her bag for her own hankie and a compact mirror. She held it up for Rick to see and they both dissolved into giggles again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not really my shade, is it?” Rick scrubbed at his face. “Is it sticking?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve missed a spot. Here.” Evie scrubbed at his chin, quaking with laughter. He was relieved to see that her eyes were glowing again, her good mood restored. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> marked you! There. All clean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pulled out a tube of lipstick and fixed her own face. Rick watched her with a small smile; she really was the most beautiful, most wonderful woman in the entire world. As Evie put her things away and looped her bag over her wrist, Rick stood and held his hands out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will you come dance with me, Mrs. O’Connell?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Carnahan, I would be delighted.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And clasping hands, they walked out of the alcove. </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Author's Note: this came as a prompt on Tumblr; if you'd like to get involved in the writing game, <a href="https://tinydooms.tumblr.com/ask">please come on over</a>! I doubt that Evie's enemy would like Rick very much, either; she seems like the kind of Karen who enjoys making people hurt. Sigh. </span>
</p>
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